


All the Way Home

by Schwoozie



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Bethyl Smut Week August 2020 (Walking Dead), Couch Sex, Demisexual Daryl Dixon, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Foot Fetish, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Daryl Dixon, Penis In Vagina Sex, Porn with Feelings, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26977279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schwoozie/pseuds/Schwoozie
Summary: Daryl is freaking out. Which, to be fair, is nothing new. Whatisnew—what won't stop feeling new, no matter how long he has it—is coming home to Beth. And a Beth that's happy to see him, at that.Still. He's freaking out. And he doesn't think she'll be quite as happy with him when she finds out what part of her body he's been fixating on.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene
Comments: 16
Kudos: 101





	All the Way Home

**Author's Note:**

> The foot fetish here is extremely light. It's mostly an excuse to give Daryl a panic attack for Beth to soothe, bless their souls.
> 
> Extremely late entry for Bethyl Smut Month 2020.

Daryl is _not_ a fucking pervert. Yeah, he’s got a girlfriend ‘bout half his age; and yeah, there’s a bit deep down inside his twisted loins that kinda doesn’t mind what that contrast looks like in the mirror; and maybe they’ve been dating four months and he’s already fucked her six ways to Sunday (and a few times _on_ Sunday, before she’s even changed out of her church clothes); and sure, he likes watching her get off more than just about anything; and when she pretends she doesn’t know he’s watching it makes each stroke on his cock that much hotter–

But couples do that shit. At least, according to Merle they do. And normally aligning with Merle’s expectations wouldn’t make him feel much better, but Rick said the same, and aside from that one time he found a pair of handcuffs dangling from Rick and Lori’s headboard, Rick is a pretty reliable litmus for normal.

Daryl doesn’t know normal. Shit, if his life were normal, Beth never would’ve looked at him sideways, never mind talked him up at a bar and declared he’d take her home with him.

Didn’t ask, mind you; simply finished her drink and jumped down from the stool and when Daryl asked where she was going she said, “With you.”

She went with him, and she stayed with him, and she wanted to _keep_ staying with him, and goddamn if her toothbrush next to his doesn’t make something deep inside sing too.

Now it’s like this: He gets home from work and she’s _there_ : let herself inside and helped herself to his couch and laid herself on her stomach reading a book she picked off Daryl’s shelf. He _does_ read, no matter what most people think of him, but when he sees her like this he wouldn’t be able to recount the plot of “Go, Dog, Go”. Cause she’s on her stomach, ass plump in her jeans and hair pulled over one shoulder—a delicate ear, a sliver of the nape of her neck—and she’s small but those legs go on for days and at the end of those legs–

He ain’t a pervert. He fucking isn’t. But when he sees her bare feet dangling in the air, swinging to a rhythm inside her head, toes painted a sweet baby doll pink…

He likes her feet. He likes her toes most of all. He likes how they look sticking out the hem of her painted-on jeans, and he thinks he’d like them all over his naked skin.

Christ, he’s getting hard. Christ Christ _Christ_.

It takes a few moments of the objects of his attention waving through the air with more purpose for Daryl to realize that Beth has noticed him; another beat to drag his eyes from the alluring movement, a brief pause to contemplate her ass (he could forget about this foot thing all together and strip her from her jeans and take her from behind; cover her like a blanket and rock inside her on the cramped couch) before he finally finds her face, eyebrow raised and lips quirked, a delicate blush building on her cheeks.

“Howdy, Mr. Dixon,” she says, and God, he could bust a nut right then. “You like staring at young ladies, all unawares?”

Daryl’s own cheeks flush and he grunts, looks at the floor to give his racing thoughts a chance to coalesce. He can talk to her—he never imagined he’d be able to talk to her like he does, never imagined he’d talk like this with _anyone_ , let alone a girl like her, soft and pretty and good down to her bones—but sometimes it takes him a minute to remember how. To settle down his goddamn useless brain that gets even more useless when sunk into thoughts of her.

She’s used to it, though; she’s stayed around long enough to be used to it, and if he could say more than an ounce of what he thought he’d be on his knees thanking her for it every goddamn day.

Not that he doesn’t thank her from his knees in other ways, but. He thinks there’s an order to these things.

Step one: Meet her goddamn eyes. Start there.

When he no longer feels like his tongue is trying to burrow its way backwards down his throat, he does. She gazes back at him patiently, mouth relaxed but eyes no less sharp. She tucks down the corner of the page she’s reading and moves to sit up.

It doesn’t take any thinking at all to propel him forward, to tap a hand on the small of her back to keep her in place as he squeezes onto the corner of the couch not taken up by her long fucking legs. She obliges him quickly, rolling over in an uncoordinated twist and raising her legs while he gets settled. Her calves plonk down right over his thighs.

The weight reminds him of the feral cat that Merle wouldn’t stop feeding when they shared a double wide a million years ago. Daryl didn’t want nothing to do with the damn thing; but on nice days when they left the door open, in the cat would wander to do a wary circuit of the living room before finding its way to Daryl’s lap. He never called it over and he never fed it neither but without fail it would find him, curl up on his thighs and purr until Daryl felt the rumbling in the soles of his feet.

He only knew that cat for the summer and fall; when winter came and passed, they never saw it again. If he told her about it, Beth would say some nice family took it in and it didn’t need Daryl and Merle anymore. Daryl thinks it’s more likely it wandered away and starved to death or got flattened by a ten-wheeler. But maybe if he told her about it she could convince him. He doesn’t think he’d mind much.

She ain’t purring, but Beth looks about as content as a kitty lying there, head balanced on the throw pillow he bought just for her visits and book hugged to her middle. She smiles up at him, clear and bright, and he finds himself running his thumb over the notches of her knee.

It’s been cold the whole time they’ve been together. He’s never seen her in shorts, or a skirt without leggings; at least not in a context where other people could see her too. He thinks he wants that. He wants to touch her knee like this in public, but her bare knee; learn its contours outside of his bed, show with his familiar touch that she’s his.

In a month they’ll be through to spring. He hopes she lasts the winter. Cross his weathered heart, he does.

“How was work?” she asks in that soft musical way she does, chin tucked and tracking his knuckles with her eyes.

He ducks his head, spreads his fingers as wide as he can to see how small her bones are against his. “Was work. Should’a showered before I sat down with you.”

Beth shrugs, the sharp bone of her shoulder poking against her sweater. “I don’t mind.” She reaches out and runs a long, delicate finger down his exposed bicep. The hairs on his arm rise in her wake. She smirks mischievously and he knows whatever she’s about to say is going to blow his socks off. “I like you dirty sometimes.”

Daryl’s hand spasms on her knee. He becomes newly aware of the press of her heels against his leg, imagines what he would see if he moved his eyes from her face… her pale feet shockingly clean against his grungy jeans, propped up on the arm of the couch so her toes bend backwards like her body does when he kisses her into the kitchen counter…

She likes him dirty. Christ, if she knew.

He casts about desperately for something to distract himself with, but Beth’s making it difficult. It’s her whole hand on his bicep now, caressing him like he’s doing to her knee, but with more intent.

He breathes in deeply. Smells his own body odor and grease from the shop, the lemon lingering in the air from when he scrubbed the kitchen the night before. And her, mixed up in all of it: the delicate touch of perfume, the strawberry of her shampoo, and something deeper, headier, growing stronger the longer they sit together. Daryl drops his eyes from her face and traces her torso, lingering on the bumps her tits make in her sweater, the dip of her waist, the pale strip of skin where her jeans have tugged low. He brings the hand not occupied with her knee to the bottom of her sweater and nudges it up to reveal her navel. He traces the skin around her belly button with two callused fingers, swipes across the indentation like he does when he teases her clit.

She whimpers in the back of her throat like she’s thinking the same thing he is. He meets her eyes and they’re half-lidded and blazing, intent on his face as he touches her.

“What’re you doing here anyway?” he asks. He moves the hand on her knee to her calf, squeezes the solid muscle until she twitches. He feels the prick of her fingernails in his arm and then the sting as she drags them down, barely enough to pink the skin but it still sets him on fire.

“I wanted to come over,” she says, voice so low he feels it through the skin of her belly, the fine vibrations tingling in his fingertips. “Didn’t see you for a few days. Missed you.”

“Could’a called.”

“What’s the fun in that?”

Daryl snorts, the corner of his mouth twitching. He should’ve expected a smartass reply. Beth may have the face of an angel but she’s a little demon when she puts her mind to it.

He leaves her bellybutton to slip his fingers under the waist of her jeans. Just a little, just a touch, but she shivers like he’d cupped her entire cunt.

Speaking of which. He might not have much experience with women, and even less with sex, but he’s committed the last few months to learning as much as he goddamn can, and he’s pretty sure he knows where this is going. Not because he knows sex, but because he knows Beth; knows what it means when her flush disappears below her collar, knows what it means when she starts flexing her muscles like a cat, like there’s energy building beneath her skin and looking for a way out. He strokes his hand from her calf to her inner thigh and she slides her legs back, bracing her feet on his thigh instead of the sofa and lets her knees fall apart, baring her inseam and coaxing his hand up farther.

And normally it would work, but he finds himself frozen, because her feet are pressing into his thigh. One of them is tilted to let her leg stretch out but the other sits strong and true, the ball of the foot sinking into the muscle. His cock started getting hard as soon as he sat down and he can see it now swelling in his jeans, just a few inches from where her toes flex and dig like a cat’s kneading paws.

He wants her to do that to his dick. Christ, he wants it so much, but he doesn’t think he could take it if he asks and she says no, looks at him with disgust twisting her pretty face. Yeah, she’s always liked what he’s done to her before—slobbering over her pussy and fucking her so hard the bedframe creaks—but this is different. This is something even assholes like his brother make fun of. If it’s too much for Merle…

“Daryl?”

His head jerks up, cheeks flaring in panic. How long’d he been staring at her foot for? Staring at his own erection, _Christ_. Beth’s stopped clenching her toes but she squeezes his arm, brow knit with concern.

“Sorry,” he says, voice hoarse like it gets after eating her out and he’s a mess—a fucking mess, a motherfucking mess for this girl. They sit in silence for an awkward moment before he moves jerkily to kiss her, hopes she’ll forget his weird-ass behavior and he can get on to the business of touching her like any other day.

She leans away from him. She’s never done that before. Always laps into his kisses, eager for it, even if he hasn’t brushed his teeth or his breath is sour from chain smoking. But now she won’t let him kiss her and that drops the bottom out of his stomach.

“Hey, wait a minute.” She puts her hand on his chest and he almost whimpers. He doesn’t care about his fucking _fetish_. He just wants to touch her, just wants to know from her flush under his mouth that they’re ok. He knows it makes him a melodramatic bitch but he thinks he’d die if she left him alone.

Used to be all he wanted was to be by himself. Sometimes he forgets how much she’s changed him.

He hangs his head and squeezes his eyes shut, tries to pull himself the fuck together. He doesn’t know what it is about this day that’s hitting him so hard. It’s just another in a long line of days where he sees her, touches her… and yeah, loves her, but he’d let a donkey kick him in the balls before he told her that. At least if she hasn’t told him first.

Tentative fingers drift through his bangs, then grow more confident, pushing them out of his face and holding them against his head. He opens his eyes to slits and stares at her knees, tries not to fucking purr as she scratches his scalp.

“I didn’t say stop. I said wait. I just wanna talk a minute,” she says, gentle as can be. All he wants in that moment is to whimper and bury his face in her stomach. Maybe wiggle her out of those skin-tight jeans, dig himself in somewhere wetter. His mouth waters just thinking about it and maybe they can avoid talking if he just goes for it. He’s done it before.

But then her foot shifts against him, moves a few millimeters towards his no-longer-flagging dick, and he closes his eyes and presses into her hand on his head. He whimpers, but he doesn’t dive for her pussy. He’s too much of a scumbag to deserve that.

But she’s still touching him, gentling him with her hand in his hair alone. Even as he struggles inside he feels his heartbeat slow, some of his panic abate. He breathes out, feels his breath tickle his dry lips.

“Can you look at me?”

She asks, so he does. Barely, peeking from the corner of his eye, glancing away, glancing back because he likes looking at her so damn much.

Her hair is mussed from lying down, her ponytail coming loose and leaving a few strands to drop free around her face. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes wide with concern. Her lips shimmer softly and he wants to lick every dot of lip-gloss onto his tongue.

She scratches his scalp and his eyes almost flutter shut, but she asked him to look at her. So he looks.

“Tell me,” she says. Her toes shift and he jerks, just a touch, but she notices. The frown line between her brows deepens. She tightens her fingers in his hair and that sends its own thrill down his spine. “ _Tell me_ , Daryl.”

“It’s… I’ve been thinking about something. Something that ain’t right.”

“Ok.” Beth shifts to lean her shoulder against the couch, rest her cheek. Her hand drops to his face and her fingers trace his cheekbone, fingers tip-toing one by one. “Something about me?”

Daryl closes his eyes. Feels the weight of her feet on his thigh. Nods. Shrugs as if he could take it back.

“Something about sex with me?”

“Jesus, Beth, I don’t wanna talk about it,” Daryl mumbles, but her hand is still on his face, arching up to his eyebrow and smoothing the hairs flat. A deep sleepiness steals into his body. He forgets where else she’s touching him even as the pressure burns him up. He forgets himself. “You don’t deserve my shit.”

“What I deserve isn’t your business.” Beth presses a finger to his temple, sits up further. “Whatever it is–“

Daryl’s eyes snap to hers and he sees them widen as her breath catches, hand stilling on his face and toes curling, again, this time where they slipped when she shifted her posture, digging deep around his pulsing dick.

A sound that Daryl’s never made before rips from his throat, a helpless whimper as his hips jerk and roll and a hand flies to her foot to hold it fast, to increase the pressure like he wants her to kick his dick through his thigh. It feels good, _God_ it feels good, and the embarrassment and lust roil like a tangled fishing line inside him until he’s left gaping, nothing to say as realization dilates her eyes.

“Oh,” she says. She looks down at where he’s holding her against himself, the fine tremors spreading from beneath his jeans as he fights not to rut up into her again. The knit in her brow is smooth now, her hand frozen on his face, and he’d let go of her foot if he thought there were another way to keep her there. He isn’t thinking too much at the moment, not in anything beyond gestures; a desperate need for her to speak, to tell him to get lost or go to the cops or rot in the seat he’s planted himself in. He’ll do whatever she says, if only she’d say…

Her hand drops to his shoulder and a smile jerks at her mouth. Then it tugs, and spreads, and she looks at him like he’s the most ridiculous man on Earth.

“Daryl. Take off my clothes.”

Daryl blinks at her, lips parting as his brow furrows. Embarrassment and lust coil hot at the base of his spine and his mouth twists into a scowl. “The fuck game are you playing–“

Beth’s foot _drags_ , toes flexing as she squeezes him between his own leg and cotton and the searing heat of her sole, up to the root and down to the tip, and his head swims so violently that he doesn’t realizes she’s moved until he feels the wet heat of her breath on his ear, her tongue brushing the cartilage with each word.

“No game. Just want you to fuck me.” She presses an open-mouthed kiss behind his ear, seals it with a nip that makes him gasp. “You wanna fuck me Daryl?”

He’ll deny it if Merle ever asks—and as soon as Merle sees her for the first time he knows his brother will fucking ask—but goddamn if Daryl doesn’t love filthy words coming out of Beth’s pretty mouth.

A growl rips from his throat and Beth squeals as his hands wrap around her waist and propel her backwards. Her back hits the opposite armrest and her breath escapes her in a soft _oof_. He glances at her face to make sure she didn’t hit too hard and her smile is near splitting her cheeks in two.

Before he can think what to do next her arms and legs have wrapped around him like an octopus and she reels him in, dragging out an _oof_ of her own as he falls across her, their teeth clicking until he can get his hands under him to shove a throw pillow under her neck and fix the angle, slant his mouth over hers and let her eager tongue push past his lips to explore. He never got kissing before her and when they aren’t wrapped together he still isn’t sure he gets it now, but he’s always run more on instinct anyway.

She hooks a leg around his and runs her calf from his ankle to his ass, uses the leverage to grind the apex of their thighs together. Daryl bites her lip and she whines, wrenches away to mouth at his cheek.

“Daryl, c’mon, I want you to fuck me, don’t make me wait, _please_ –“

Goddamn he hates when she begs like that, and by hate he means he _loves_ it, throbs for it, gets himself all clumsy so he has to grab at the back of the couch to keep from falling as he jerks to his knees and fumbles at his belt. Beth is grinning, swollen lip between her teeth, and he’d pinch her on the thigh for being such a goddamn brat if it wouldn’t slow him down.

A moment later his zipper releases and his cotton-covered cock springs free. He hisses in relief and gasps when Beth’s hand immediately smooths across it, cups the wet spot on his underwear with her palm and strokes him up and down until he bats her away.

“Supposed to be getting your clothes off, huh?” he says breathlessly.

“Told you to do it.” She’s grinning like a goddamn maniac, ponytail half in ruins and he wants to fuck it up more. Get her hair spread across the throw pillow like he’s gonna spread her across the couch, cause this started with her feet and they’re still there, running teasing lines along his sides until he grabs her under the knees and presses back until she’s damn near folded in half and the smell of her arousal spills through her goddamn jeans.

“Gonna,” he grunts. He wiggles a hand between her stomach and her thighs to pop her button while she tugs her sweater over her head, little tits flopping out as he fights the allure of her pussy in favor of getting her naked as quickly as possible. Her stomach muscles tighten under his hand as she lifts her hips off the couch so he can pull her jeans and panties off and she’s there, naked for him, pale except where she isn’t: her nipples flushed and hard like the clit peeking out of her pubic hair, arching up as she presents herself for him, plants one heel against the back of the couch and the other splayed behind his ass, her pussy as open and red and flooded as he’s ever seen it.

He doesn’t remember getting the rest of his clothes off, or even getting the condom on. He blacks out from the sheer arousal in his gut and when he wakes up he’s pressing forward, one hand on his dick and the other in her pussy, swirling like he’s cleaning brownie batter out of a bowl. He mouths at her neck, biting more than sucking but she doesn’t berate him; presses her temple to his instead, moans in his ear as her little hands grab for his ass.

“Inside me, get inside me now, please–“

“Am inside you,” he pants, fingers tugging at her spongy cunt until she shudders all over.

“You know what I mean, you _jerk_ –“

She’s smiling when she says it, and goddamn it all, he’s smiling too.

He pulls his fingers out of her, has them halfway to his mouth before he thinks better of it and smears her slick across her tits, dick jumping when she arches her back into the fleeting pressure.

He’d like to suck on those tits. He would, he has, he _will_ , but he’s half worried she’ll kick him out if he doesn’t give his dick to her soon, and that… that someone would want the thing he pisses with so much, that _Beth_ would, her blood red cunt winking and begging for it, weeping juices he’s gonna smell on his couch for goddamn _weeks_ –

He can wonder over his girl later. He’ll have that time. She’ll give him that time. She’ll give him so much.

Now, she’s sinking her close-cut nails into his biceps, her throat working through a whine as her thighs spread as wide as they’ll goddamn go.

“You better fuck me now, Daryl Dixon,” she gasps, and gasps again when his hand sinks into her hair. He doesn’t pull it, though; at least not on purpose, and he hopes he doesn’t, as he works the tie off the strands and flings it to the floor as he lines himself up and sinks his dick into her pussy.

He’s glad he released her hair when he did cause fucking _shit_ , he wouldn’t have the coordination to do it now. He’d spent so long thinking a pussy was a pussy, the same no matter who it was attached to and even then not much better than his own well slicked hand, but Beth’s… he doesn’t know if there’s fairy dust in her cum or what, but his dick entering her pussy makes his stomach swoop like he’s falling.

He does fall, but he catches himself before he crushes her, groaning loud and grating as his fingers dig into the armrest behind her head and her pussy eats him up. She’s making her own noises, little whimpers and gasps that he quiets his own ass down to hear; choked whines and coos tumbling from her stretched throat as she arches her neck, wet mouth open and eyes fluttering like she’s ready to pass out too.

“Yes, Daryl, yes…”

He doesn’t know how she has the presence of mind to form words right now. He sure as fuck doesn’t, not when his balls are already pulling up hot and tight and it takes burying his face in the couch, away from where her scent is strongest, to keep from shooting off right there.

She doesn’t give any mercy; yanks his head back to her with a hand in his hair, the other digging blunt nails into his ass as her hips roll and her pussy clenches him cross-eyed.

“C’ _mon_ ,” she whines, like the entitled brat she is, and fuck does she deserve to be entitled cause he’d give her anything in the whole goddamn world.

What he _wants_ is to give her a long, hard fucking, and he won’t be able to unless she settles the fuck down.

“Gimme a goddamn minute,” he growls. Her pupils widen as she wrestles the beginning of a grin into a pout.

“If I have to wait a whole darn minute we are breaking _up_ –“

“Fucking hell, you goddamn needy–“

“I need you,” she moans, and he swears his heart flips upside down in his chest. Her hands grip his already-sweaty shoulder blades, pull him close until he has no choice but to sink balls-deep inside her, until her nipples push hard and still tacky-wet against his chest. “I need you, Daryl,” she whispers, and fuck him sideways, maybe he’ll embarrass himself but who the hell is he to deny her anything?

“Okay… okay,” he murmurs, sucks the words into her neck again and again as he braces himself—knee in the cushions, foot on the floor, hand on the armrest and the other under her ass—and the next time she rolls her body he meets her rhythm, pulls out to the head and thrusts until she groans.

“That’s it,” she moans, hand grabbing for his thigh, “Again, again, please–“

He does it again, and again, hips pumping into a steady rhythm he didn’t know his body knew until he met her. He gropes her ass, her waist, takes a nipple into his mouth to taste the cum he smeared there and feel the vibrations from her lungs and heart as she huffs in time to his thrusts. Her hand is back in his hair, the other clutching the fabric behind her, and it only takes a little maneuvering to get her fingers twined with his.

“Feel so good,” he slurs into her cheek, “God Beth, I love your pussy, feel so fucking good, girl–“ She bites the muscle between his neck and shoulder, sharp little teeth like electrodes connected to his dick. She squeals under a particularly hard thrust. “Tell me how you want it, wanna give it to you, let me give it, holy fuck–“

“Up… up, Daryl I wanna–“

She pushes at his shoulder and he doesn’t let himself panic; just follows her lead as he straightens up, his dick slipping out of her as he strengthens his foot on the floor and she swings one leg up to brace her ankle against his shoulder, curls the other knee around his hip.

Her tits are shiny with her cum and his spit. Her pale skin is pink, flushed all over with arousal and sweet, darker spots where he sucked blood to the surface. Her hair hangs off the couch and sticks to her sweaty neck and the blue of her eyes is even brighter for the giant pupils swallowing it.

She wraps a small hand around his dick, strokes it until he’s shivering, notches it back in her pussy and practically kicks him into her.

He has more leverage from this position, more control over their movements, and at first he uses it: long, deep strokes of his dick that push her up the couch, make her groan and clench around him–

And then the ankle by his ear twists, and her toes are in his hair. Tugging like fingers as he follows the limb down to where he’d drenched in her, where she’s stretched around him, and it’s the smug little grin on her lips that makes him grit his teeth and grab her hips and break the rhythm to slam himself inside her as far as he’ll go.

Her toes clench and his scalp prickles as she yanks out a few hairs, but it only makes the burning in his gut stronger. He hoists her up further until her ankle slides past his shoulder and he takes hold of it, braces her foot flat on his chest, leans forward until her spine bends and his thrusts turn rapid and teeth-rattling.

“Oh my, oh my god, Daryl–“

“You like that?” he gasps, sweat flying from his dangling hair, “You like how I’m fucking you? Tell me you like it, Beth, tell me you like how I’m fucking you–“

“I like it, I like it, I like it, I like it,” she chants, cunt squeezing and tits dancing and toes curling as he bends his head and sucks them into his mouth, slurps across them like five twitching clits as she seizes under him, a cry ripping from her throat as she convulses and probes his tongue and with her release he lets go too.

He stays like that as long as he can, deep in her cunt and sucking her toes to calm himself down, but soon the trembling in his thighs gets to be too much and he pulls out. Her leg slides to the couch as he looks down, his softening dick in his hand, the cum-filled condom kissing her fucked-open cunt until he groans and strips it off, drops it carelessly to the floor as he curls into her, cheek planted between her tits and body cradled by her hips.

He listens to her pounding heart quiet as his does the same. His eyes drift open and shut, his chest rumbling when she raises a hand to scratch at his scalp.

“Still think something ain’t right with you?” she whispers. A grateful shiver ripples down his spine. She sounds sated. She sounds _fucked out_. And it’s cause of him.

He realizes she’s waiting for an answer, and he shrugs, presses a kiss to the tit in front of his face. Cause she’s there. Cause he can.

“Probably,” he says, and Jesus, he sounds just as messed up as she does. That warms him like anything. He burrows deeper against her, breathing in her sweat, her scent all fucking over him. “But seems you’re alright with it, so. Can’t be all bad, huh?”

Her laugh is sweet, and sweeter still are her arms as they wrap around his head, hold him tighter against her.

He sighs, thick and sleep heavy. His neck is cricking, and hers must be too. He’ll move them to the bed soon. Maybe get his mouth on her cunt, suck her off until she’s coming so hard she cries. Coming so hard she laughs.

Maybe she’ll get her toes in his hair again.

“Glad I came home to you,” he mumbles.

A shiver passes through her torso. She presses her lips to the crown of his head; holds them there like there are words they can’t form yet, like she hopes he’ll hear them regardless.

He doesn’t. Not yet. But like her, he hopes.


End file.
